


A Death Eater that cries

by Farmulousa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference 17/21, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Enthusiastic Consent, Gambling, Hand Jobs, I cannot emphasise how sad this is, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape referenced, Rimming, SO SAD, Sad, Scared Regulus, Secret Affair, Sirius is a little shit, Smoking, Sweary Moody, and angst again, but not between Reg & Moody, so is james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa
Summary: He reminisced about a time, almost four months ago, when seducing Regulus Black was a great idea. A time when he might score the Order some information on the enemy. A time when he wasn’t falling in love with a boy who was trying to demolish the plans of a terrorist cell from the inside. A time long, long gone, and he didn’t know if he wanted it back anyway.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	A Death Eater that cries

**Author's Note:**

> Can you imagine having a friend like [MaraudingManaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged)? A friend who sends you flowers after surgery, when they've just had surgery themselves? A friend who when they are recovering from surgery, alphabetas your behemoth of a one-shot? This piece is only has good as she is and is also infinitely sadder due to her. Many thanks for helping me embrace the sad Lexi. 

  
  


_The moment they’re in the air, Alastor knows there’s something wrong._

_A green light zips past Tonks, illuminating her face before she zooms to the left. The youngest Weasley son’s face pales visibly before they disappear out of sight._

_Behind him, Fletcher’s fumbling with his wand and muttering under his breath. Al turns to find out what he’s_ fucking waiting for _only to see a flood of Death Eaters lining the sky. White puffy clouds are framing them as Harry Potter’s face collapses into terror and guilt before winking out of existence all together._

_Cowardly cunt._

_The roar of Sirius Black’s motorbike is quite far away now and he feels a sense of victory that Potter, the_ real _Potter, is far away; safely on his way to Andromeda’s._

_Facing forward again, he catches the eye of Bill Weasley, who has his copy of Harry locked around his middle; but something about the way the eldest Weasley’s eyes bulge causes him to pull a u-turn._

_Voldemort._

_His grey, shiny, thin skin is almost glowing in the light of the moon and the minute they make eye contact, he knows he’s done for._

_Round silver eyes and silky black hair enter his vision._

_He watches Voldemort’s lipless mouth as he forms the word ‘_ Legilimency’ _before a knife slices through his brain._

* * *

“POTTER!” 

Idiots. He was surrounded by _idiots._

“POTTER!” 

His hair seemed to enter the main floor of the DMLE before he did, but eventually James Potter’s smug little face came into view from the trainee office. Potter had a way of smiling that made him incredibly punchable.

“Death Eaters,” he huffed, shoving a wand holster into the new recruit’s hand and turning on his heel. “At the Nott estate, follow me.”

“Oi Moody,” Sirius Black’s jovially grating voice rang out across the floor. “Did you say Death Eaters?” 

“None of your business Black, you’re assigned to Robards this week,” Alastor snapped, motioning with his hand that Potter had to hurry up putting his holster around his arm. 

“Prongs,” Sirius carried on breezily, regardless of the obvious urgency. “Fuck off for a second would you?” 

“‘Course Pads.” James grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder and barrelling off towards the apparition point for the department. 

“Now, now Moody,” Black smiled deviously, making Alastor regret his choice not to deck him the moment he’d come over. “I have a favour to ask.” 

“Get the fuck on with it then,” he growled, keeping an eye on if the Head Auror could see him standing in the middle of the department, decidedly _not_ reacting to the anonymous tip that had been called in. 

“Well, you see, it’s incredibly likely that you’re going to run into my little brother this evening,” Sirius began, seemingly unphased by Alastair reaching for his wand at the _shitting cheek_ this little shit had. “You see I know that _someone_ is going to have to escort him to the Ministry for questioning, him being sixteen and all-“ 

“I am NOT babysitting your little Death Eater brother, Black,” Alastair hissed through gritted teeth before turning on his heel, heading in the direction Potter had gone in to see if he had managed to get the sodding holster on yet. 

“Hold it right fucking there, Moody,” Sirius barked as they reached a blessedly empty corridor. 

Turning swiftly and reaching for the collar of Black’s shirt, Alastor slammed him against the wall. The indignation the boy had felt at his brother’s honour being questioned was replaced by fear before melting into the slimy, charming shithead he was at school. 

“What the fuck to I have to do to get you to leave me alone?” He snarled, pushing Black harder into the wall just to watch his eyes bulge a little. 

“Don’t let Reg be questioned,” Sirius squeaked, looking desperate as he pulled a pouch of money from his pocket. “Please; he only has one more year of school left and then I can get him out.” 

Groaning, Alastor let the other man slide down to the floor before stomping down to the apparition point shouting, “Like shite am I going to be bribed into keep a sixteen-year-old boy out of a holding cell for the night. Mummy and Daddy will weasel his release by fucking midnight, Black.” 

Slamming through the door to the apparition room, he found Potter leaning against the wall with that fucking _smile_ again. 

“What’s the plan?” Potter said, having the gall to look fucking excited at the idea of walking into a terrorist group with only two of them. 

“Arrest as many of them as you can; kick them back through the Floo if you have to.” Taking a deep breath and regretting every step that had led him to that moment, he sighed and muttered, “And if you find Regulus Black, bring him to me.”

Having the forsight not to say a fucking word, Potter only smirked breifly before waiting for his cue to enter the floor. 

Grabbing at the flat slip of leather that wrapped around the back of James’ holster, he side-along apparated them to Nott Manor where, evidently and supremely irritatingly, they were expected. More than half of them apparated out of the house before Alastor could even _start_ the anti-apparition warding, and by the time he’d thrown it up only a few new recruits remained. Potter, to his credit, rounded them up pretty quickly and by the time Al had reached the kitchen, every Death Eater but one was bound and being pushed through the floo to the DMLE. 

The one remaining Death Eater, a pale young man with a jaw that could cut glass, was hiding behind the kitchen island with his head in his hands. As Alastor leaned against the door frame, watching Regulus Black start to rock back and forth in the fetal position in the reflection of a glass cabinet opposite him. 

“You know,” Alastor said, louder than was probably necessary but ignoring the man as he jumped and stood to his feet. “If this is the sort of evasive skills you lot have, I don’t think we’re going to have much trouble taking your leader down, do you?” 

“I can’t disapparate, I’m-”

“Sixteen,” he said at the same time as Regulus, watching as fear and some sort of relief flickered across the boy’s face. “I know.”

“Reg!” Potter said, suddenly coming up right behind Alastor, smiling like a cunt. 

“Potter.” The youngest Black brother sneered in a way that would probably make his parents proud, his hackles rising as his brother’s best friend tried to approach him. Seeing that the boy would bolt at even a breath from Potter, Al took James by the back of the collar and pushed him back out of the kitchen. 

“Go and process those arrests. You did a good job, Potter; don’t stuff it up by letting _personal feelings_ get in the way,” he grumbled, pushing the wild-haired trainee back towards the Floo. 

Turning back to the kitchen he was almost surprised to see Regulus still there, bent over the kitchen island rubbing his eyes but immediately standing straight up at the sight of Alastor. 

He was _crying._

Since when did Death Eaters cry? Since when were they ever anything other than slightly inconvenienced by the authorities? Regulus Black, despite the red around his eyes and the tears escaping down one side of his face, was _beautiful._ Somehow the crying enhanced his silver eyes, making them glitter and shine. His luminous pale skin almost glowed, making the shadows of his cheekbones and jaw seem all the more defined. He was an inhuman type of pretty; a type of pretty Alastor could ruin if given half the chance. 

“Come on,” he sighed, striding towards the younger man and taking the back of his neck in one hand, bracing for apparition. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

The pull from behind his belly button faded but he kept hold of Regulus’ neck as they both faced Butler & Smith’s bookies. It was the only place Alastor knew they wouldn’t be seen by wizarding eyes, he pushed Regulus into through the door and directed him to a booth in the back corner where there was a radio against the wall commentating on a football match. 

Betting on Muggle car races and coming to Butler & Smith’s had become a pastime after school and when he needed to remove himself from the mouth-breathers at the Ministry. The men in the bookies would never look at him, never mind talk to him; and one day, when walking past on his way to meet an informant, he made the decision to go in. 

This room had been the start of many things for Alastor: the start of him smoking cigarettes, of him betting on races, and meeting up with other men for sex. He had been approached by a few men over his time there, and their shame at what Muggles seemed to think was some sort of great imperfection with their personality would mean they would very rarely want to _talk_ to him. Instead, they would simply grab at each other in the alley two shops away, or go to the B&B towards Dalston that rented rooms by the hour. 

Regulus Black stuck out like a sore thumb. Firstly was his beauty; no one with a face like that would even know this place existed. Secondly was his clothing: tailored to perfection and obviously an otherworldly sort of expensive, his black shirt and trousers looked like they had simply formed naturally around him, the black pearl buttons glinting in the soft lights of the bookies. 

Checking the time, Alastor realised that there was a race he had ten pounds on due to finish in a couple of minutes, so he tuned the radio to the station that the final laps the Formula One would be broadcast from. Rummaging through his pockets to find the slip of paper he’d written down the bet on, he caught Regulus’ eyes. Staring - openly staring at Alastor - the younger man subconscious licked his bottom lip. 

_Interesting._

Taking a cigarette from the packet he had come across in the inside pocket of his robes, he lit it before offering one to Regulus. Balking a little, he declined, but he still seemed to watch carefully as Al took the first drag. 

_Even more interesting._

After a few minutes - when it had become clear to Al that he had lost his ten pounds, because pissing Villeneuve in his bastarding Ferrari couldn’t manage a win at sodding Hockenheim - he leaned back against the ageing padding of the booth and took a deep inhale of what was maybe his third cigarette. 

“Why am I here?” Regulus asked quickly, turning on the bench beneath them to face Al. It was difficult to respond to the question, considering he had been making up every move he’d made since the kitchens at Nott Manor as he went along. A light flickered on inside his head though, and Dumbledore’s infuriating airy voice rang around his mind. 

Giving the younger man some sort of nonsense about _doing good,_ Al tried to think about his next move. It was obvious to him that Regulus was in over his head. His brother knew it, and now Alastor did too. Somewhere inside the insipid pool that was Sirius Black’s mind, there was a plan to rescue this boy from the clutches of Voldemort - but Alastor could see very clearly that Regulus Black had the wherewithal to save himself. The relief on his face when Al had found him in the kitchen, the false bravado in front of Potter... Regulus wasn’t a Death Eater, he was a scared boy who had been given no other options. 

Of course, he was going to need a reason to trust Alastor. A good one too - because he’d been trained not to trust even his own family from a young age, as all Blacks had. Regulus’ tongue flickered onto his lip again and a warmth grew in the pit of his belly, feeding the plan he was calculating in his mind. 

_He’s too young._

A voice, that sounded a lot like Molly Weasley, bounced back and forth as he made the decision to settle his hand around Regulus’ thigh. Obviously not a Quidditch player from how lean he was built, Alastor could still feel the muscle under his palm warm and twitch at the touch. Wondering whether the younger man had received physical affection since he was a child, the shuddering thought that _he was still a child_ rippled through his body. 

Focusing again on Regulus’ face, lust clouded the other man’s eyes and Al’s decision was made for him. Putting his arm around the man’s waist, Alastor pushed them both out of the booth while maintaining a grip that locked their torsos together. 

There was an apparition point very close to the bookie’s that was generally unused considering how far away they were from most of Wizarding London. When he got there to find the wards disallowing them to apparate right then and there, Al took the opportunity to take what he wanted. 

Softly at first, like he was approaching a small wild animal, he placed his hands either side of Reg’s throat making eye contact with him before looking down at the man’s pouty, perfect lips. 

Kissing Regulus Black should be illegal. 

Whimpering, Reg pulled their torsos together so that Al’s body weight was pushing the other man against the wall at his back. Licking a line from one corner of Regulus’ mouth to the other, he begged for entrance, to taste inside. Sweet, spicy notes of firewhiskey overwhelmed him as Al massaged their tongues together, moaning into each other’s mouths. 

Ripping his lips away so that he could taste more of him, he ripped the top button on Reg’s shirt opened so he could bite into the flesh he found, licking over the same spot when Regulus squeaked at the pressure. 

“Fuck,” Reg whispered, his breath ghosting past Alastor’s ear, stiffening the already painful erection in his jeans. 

“Reg,” Al growled before taking over the man’s mouth again and sinking his fingers into the muscle of Regulus’ thigh. 

* * *

Sneaking into the kitchen at the Camden house was a reasonably entertaining pastime. The four men that lived there - Black, Lupin, Potter and Pettigrew - were idiots, but at least they were consistent. Not once in the time that the Order had been using this house for meetings had they ever used anything beyond a very normal locking charm and, as he had time and time again, Alastor was about to get into the house of the _Great Marauders_ without even having to verbalise a spell. 

Walking through the kitchen, which looked like it had been hit with a bombarda, he heard light footsteps above him. He turned into the dining room, the longest room in the house and where the meeting would be, and sat down to the right of the door so he wouldn’t be visible from the hallway. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. 

“Bloody fu-” Peter Pettigrew’s shaky, breathy voice shrieked before he realised who he’d come across and stood stone still. “Moody.”

“Pettigrew.” Al said without looking at him, searching for a cigarette in the pockets of his wool coat. 

There was something interestingly twitchy about the shortest of the four men who lived in that house. He would sit quietly in the corners of rooms as if he wasn’t there, and would only speak when spoken to. He looked _terrified_ whenever he was in a room with Alastor, and he knew why. Sirius Black, eternal shit-stirrer, had started telling people that on top of Al’s talent for non-verbal spells he had also learned how to perform legilimency without the other party’s knowledge. Not only was this grossly untrue, but proved Black’s unwavering idiocy - as it was essentially impossible. 

However, if Sirius was an idiot, then he wasn’t sure what that made Pettigrew - because he was the tosser that _believed_ it. Whenever they were in a room together Peter would avoid eye contact with him, and almost refuse to speak to him. Once, when Al had found himself in the pub with quite a few Order members, the idiot in question hadn’t let his drink be included in Alastor’s round. 

“You’re, um,” Pettigrew floundered in the silence, looking out towards the hall he came from and into the fireplace on the other side of the room. The desperation for someone to interrupt their conversation flooded from his every pore and Al tried not to snort out a laugh. “You’re early.” 

“Observant,” Al replied, throwing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it before distractedly asking, “Where’s Black?” 

“Oh, um, he’s upstairs,” Peter murmured, backing away sharply as Al rose from his seat. 

As if Alastor had a repelling charm aimed solely at Pettigrew, the shorter man avoided being in his path so much that he might as well have fused into the wall. 

“BLACK!” He shouted, coming to the top of the stairs to look around at five closed doors, and losing interest in being sneaky by the second. “BLACK!”

A sharp groan drifted from behind one of the doors before it opened to reveal Remus Lupin, half of his shirt buttoned incorrectly and his belt undone. Remus Lupin was unreasonably pretty for someone who was essentially the most dangerous member of the Order of the Phoenix. His soft features and round, sage green eyes appeared as if someone had built his face for kindness alone, and it was something that Al had found disconcertingly attractive. 

But not any longer. 

There had been times in the past that Alastor had thought repeatedly about licking every scar that peaked out the top of Lupin’s shirt collars - but not any more. When Remus’ eyes flashed gold at very clearly being interrupted, all he wanted was for them to be a light shimmering silver. When Lupin pushed past him and into the bathroom at the end of the hall with a growl, he was too tall. 

Over the past month, whenever an attractive man had passed him in the street or stirrings had begun in his groin, it had been Regulus Black’s face that had floated into his mind’s eye. He had tried to concede that the youngest black brother was extremely good looking by anyone’s standards. Anyone _that_ universally attractive would have most people thinking upon them from time to time, but slowly during the passing weeks Al’s initial attraction had become an obsession. 

What was meant to be a convenient attraction to a useful informant had somehow become an infatuation that had very little to do with the war they were separated by. 

“Sorry Moody,” Sirius said, hopping into view as he pulled on leather trousers but remained topless. “He gets a bit shitty leading up to the moon.” 

Considering how similar Sirius and Regulus were in face and build, so close in age and breeding, it was quite remarkable how repulsive Al found him. Slimy and smarmy, Sirius Black would float away from the truly impressive amount of hot air in his ego if he didn’t have others to keep him tethered to the ground. 

“Put a fucking shirt on,” Alastor barked, pushing Sirius out of the way and walking into the bedroom that, without the brass bed against the far wall, could have been mistaken for the kitchen. 

Closing the door; Sirius found a t-shirt, sniffed it and then shrugged before putting it on. 

“Not that I don’t really love being interrupted from what would have been a truly spectacular handj-”

“Shut the fuck up Black,” Al snapped, throwing a worn leather boot from where it sat next to him at the foot of the bed. “We need to talk about your brother.”

“What has he done now? I thought James said that you sorted him last month, yeah? Was there another raid? Why did nobody call me?”

“Nothing has happened to your sodding brother, Black,” he interrupted, looking to see if he could find another cigarette upon his person before silently summoning a packet from Sirius’ bedside table. 

“Then what do you need to talk to me for?” 

“When it’s time for whatever idiot plan you’ve got to get him out,” he said, putting the cigarette in his mouth, lighting it and taking a deep drag. “I’m in.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said,” Al repeated, slowly as if he were speaking to an especially slow child. “When you can get your brother out from under Voldemort’s thumb _safely,_ I’ll help you.” 

Something awful and knowing flashed over Sirius’ features but, too smart to make a joke or say anything that would encourage Alastor to take back his offer to help his brother, he simply nodded before grabbing a jumper. 

They both walked downstairs and back into the dining room to find all of the Order that would be attending already sitting down or standing around the edges of the room. Al shuffled inside and leant against a section of wall that was clear next to Alice Fortescue. 

“As we’re all here,” Dumbledore began, making significant eye contact with Al as if he were a naughty child that was late for class. “I’ll begin.”

* * *

  
  


Regulus Black was standing in the middle of Butler & Smith’s staring at him. 

Frozen to the spot in smart black dress robes and the world’s stupidest look on his face, he was the most beautiful thing Al had ever seen. His face was angelic, his lips soft and pouting as he poured over Alastor’s face. 

Raising his eyebrows as if to ask _what the fuck are you doing here?_ Al watched the other man physically shaked himself before sitting down in the booth next to him. The disappointment that rattled through him when Regulus didn’t sit close enough to touch or be touched, was as surprising as it was humiliating. They hadn’t seen each other for two months and before that they had simply existed in the same universe, yet somehow this teenage Death Eater had wormed his way into his mind. 

Alastor tried his best to ignore the urge to pull the other man to him, instead looking through the odds on the horse he’d put money down on. His horse won; incredible really as he’d chosen the horse with the worst odds just for a bit of fun. The nasty looks he got from the regular patrons of the bookies meant more to him than the hundred and fifty pounds that would be waiting for him at the counter. 

Turning to look at his unexpected visitor, his heart climbed into his throat when he saw that Reg was _crying._ Somehow, Alastor Moody had found a Death Eater that cried. Concentrating a little on magically shielding them from the rest of the room, he practically pulled the other man into his lap. It felt as if the only way he could resolve the maelstrom of emotions Regulus’ tears had caused would be to have their skin fuse together. 

When Reg tried to confess, inform Al of his plan or something similarly idiotic, his mind went blank - and in a move fuelled by blind panic, Alastor slammed their mouths together. The kiss is just as consuming and world tilting as it had been the months before. Reg whimpered and a bolt of something secret and permanent; tore through Al’s spine and settled in his groin. 

Grinning and letting the other man pull away for a second the shimmering earnest _goodness_ that glowed from Regulus’ every pore made heat rise in Alastor’s face. 

“You can’t ever tell me, okay?” Al breathed, leaning in against to kiss Reg’s cheek and then nip at his jaw. Whispering in his ear in a hasher tone, “Okay?”

Simply put, Alastor was terrified out of his mind. As he kissed down Regulus’ throat and thrust his hand through the silky black hair that hung lower than it had two months before, he tried to control the fire that settled behind his sternum. Whatever Reg had planned, whatever he knew or even thought he knew, Al could never hold that information. Rumours of Voldemort’s legilimency skills were becoming more detailed and more alarming by the day. 

The week previously he had questioned a woman who had reported a Death Eater sighting only to find her memory of the evening in question completely erased. No damage to her mind, no footprints in the memories that took the place of the true events, only a fabricated memory of a pleasant evening spent listening to the Wizarding Wireless and drinking peppermint and licorice tea. When he had returned to the main office floor he had been so shaken that he had almost vomited into the waste paper basket at his desk. They were dealing with a charismatic, influential and powerful wizard who could apparently remove himself from reality; seemingly disappearing without a trace. 

He could absolutely _never_ know anything that would endanger himself. Or Reg. 

“Al,” Regulus moaned, twisting his pale fist into Alastor’s unironed shirt front. “Take me somewhere.” 

Nothing had ever made sense the way pulling Reg out of the bookies and dragging him towards the nearest apparition point had. Slamming his delicate, pale body back against the brick wall of the alley as they waited for the wards to open, Al dragged his teeth across the thin skin of Regulus’ neck, tearing at his shirt collar in desperation for more skin. 

Just as he got his neck tie loose and his hand wrapped around Reg’s throat, the wards changed and he smiled before pulling them out of existence, appearing once again on the rug in the living room at Al’s flat. 

Dark, messy and wholly uninviting, there was nowhere that felt quite like home than the flat that had been left to him by his maternal Grandmother. She had been English, a Parkinson, and he had been taught early at her knee that just because your family were intolerant and bigoted - it didn’t meant you had to be. Never having a flare or inclination for decorating, Alastor had never touched the place. The charcoal grey walls of the living room were covered in Wizarding and Muggle photographs of his grandmother with notable people from both worlds. She had met Nicolas Flamel and Elvis Presley and she had been one constant source of joy and light in Alastor’s life until she had died during his last year of school. 

Regretting having not taken any of the photos down and thanking Merlin that his grandmother’s portrait was in the study down the hall, Al dropped to his knees. Kissing the defined bulge that pressed against the flies of Reg’s trousers, he smiled as a long loud gasp sounded above him. Willing his fingers not to fumble, he pulled at the buttons that were keeping him from his goal, Alastor whipped the trousers to the ground - trapping Reg there with his shoes still on. 

“Al,” Reg choked out, his fists rhythmically gripping and releasing the robes at his sides. 

“Reg,” Al replied, smiling up at him. Smoothing his palm over the stiff erection in front of him, he asked, “Is this alright?”

“Mhm, ye-” Regulus gasped before letting out a long moan as Alastor tugged his boxers down and placed a kiss on the tip of his erection. “Yesssssss.”

Unsurprisingly, considering his startling beauty, Regulus Black had a perfect cock. Slightly wider than Al’s and a bit shorter, it was mouth watering and made illicit _wonderful_ images appear behind his eyelids. Taking a deep breath at the base where soft black curls lay against Reg’s taught abdomen, the smell was intoxicating. It made the pulse already resonating in Alastor’s crotch stronger, a beacon calling him home. 

Pulling the wide tip into his mouth, Al almost groaned in relief, his own cock twitching at the thought that perhaps, if he were very lucky, Reg might want to reciprocate. Regulus’ hiss of indrawn breath focused those imaginings with more clarity as his hand fell to the back of Al’s head. Not slipping further down but taking his time, swirling his tongue around the foreskin below the head. 

He tilted his head to slide his lips and tongue down the underside of his shaft, teased at the apex where it met the tip. Tapping his tongue down on the straining ridge there, and sucked, drawing his lips back and forth over the sensitive area. 

Stealing a glance at Reg’s face, and finding his eyes closed, success sung in Al’s veins. A small vertical crease between his eyebrows was deepening as they drew together. The sight of him enjoying Al’s work sent his arousal skyrocketing; he was painfully hard. 

Lifting his head, Al took him into his mouth fully, as much as he could manage. This had never been his ultimate talent but he managed to get about half of Reg in before he hit his soft palate and gagged slightly. 

Reg moaned at the sound, the hand on Al’s head pushing him gently down. His eyes went wide and a smile formed as best it could in his current position because Regulus Black _enjoyed_ making him gag. Thoughts of what else he might enjoy making Al do slammed into the front of his mind and he went senseless with the lust that rolled through his body. Choking a bit more on the pressure of Reg’s cock on the back of his tongue, Al’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he roughly took the smooth globes of Regulus’ arse in his hands, squeezing. 

“Are you alright?” Reg breathed, quickly pulling Al off him with a panicked look on his face. “I mean, was that ok?” 

Laughing at the insane luck that this soft, kind man was also someone who wanted to fuck his face, Al tried to go back to work but Reg’s hands tightened in his hair. A frisson of something exciting shot down his spine as the man above him held him there, the tightness in his scalp only making the situation in his trousers that much worse. 

Reg’s fingers moved to curl over the nape of his neck. Looking into his eyes with earnest tenderness, Alastor felt something eerily similar to love had climbed down his throat to make a nest in his chest. Guiding his head down, Al went back to work, slow and steady; alternating between sucking and releasing with the bobbing rhythm of his head. 

Swirling his tongue around his when he could, Al tapped the underside of his shaft and head the rest of the time. He knew he was doing well when Reg began to lift his hips in time with his motions; short, sharp _ahs_ and _Als_ of pleasure bursting from him. 

Signalling Reg’s end, a pulse started at the base under Alastor’s hand, and tightening his fist he pulled completely away from him. A long, guttural, whine pulled from deep within Regulus’ throat; desperation colouring every sharp, pretty angle of his face. 

“I’d like to fuck you,” Al whispered, kissing the thigh infront of him in reply to the squeak that came from Regulus’ chest. 

Climbing to his feet faster than he felt was possible, he stepped towards Reg to take his face in his hands. “Would you like that?” 

“Yesssssss,” Reg replied, hissing in response to Al kissing the soft patch of skin below his ear. 

Crouching down to take off the other man’s shoes and trousers, he pulled the now-bottomless Regulus down the hallway and into his bedroom. The large dark wood four-poster bed had never held such potential than it had in that moment. Turning to Reg he pulled the robes and neck tie all the way off before ripping his shirt, the buttons clattering to the floor. 

“Bend over on the bed,” Al whispered into Regulus’ collar bone. 

Doing as he had commanded, Alastor watched his knees shaking a little as he climbed up onto the mattress; Reg seemed to become entirely made of nerves. Having to calm his own breath, Al made a concerted effort to control the urge to push him to the bed and pound him into a puddle beneath him. Everything about this encounter made it clear that this was Regulus’ first time, and Alastor would make sure it was a completely enjoyable experience even if it meant his balls would explode with the tension that currently sat within them. 

The sigh of him bent over on his hands and knees on the bed was, in short, overwhelmingly inviting. The back of his thighs, dusted with black hairs and tense with anticipation, made Al want to climb walls. 

Al’s soles made a _zip-shush zip-shush_ against the carpet, and he marveled that he could hear it over the sound of his own roaring heartbeat. Gently placing his hand on the curve of Reg’s hip, he encouraged the other man to move his knees slightly further apart. Softening his voice and taking a deep breath to quell the riot starting in his chest, he whispered, “Spread for me.”

Silently summoning the lubricant Al kept in his bedside table, he let his spare hand trail over the plains of Reg’s lower back and arse as he opened it with his teeth and let the oil drip softly between his cheeks. When he pulled those cheeks apart and placed his tongue against the sweet herbal scent of the oil, Reg nearly shot straight up from his bent-over position. When Al’s face pressed into the cleft of his arse, a strangled sound came from above him, Reg’s face slammed hard into the duvet beneath him. 

“No, no. You’re not going to stay quiet.” Alastor said, leaning a back a little to place open mouth kisses into the muscles of Reg’s upper thighs. 

Swiping his tongue over him, aided by the lubricant, Reg reacted as he'd been hit with a static charm - he was so very responsive and _loud_. Al rolled his tongue lazily over the knot of muscle, switching between long strokes and a gentle tapping that made Regulus mutter nonsense into the mattress. When Alastors’ tongue slipped inside the tight ring of muscle, teasing from the inside, Regulus made a noise so soft and sweet that he felt his heart beat faster with the need to hear it again. 

Working at him for a long time, prodding and swirling, only to withdraw and repeat the actions externally, Reg humped and writhed and _begged_ **_._ **

“Please,” he screamed as Al placed his fingers against his perineum, applying just enough pressure for a strangled croak to reverberate around the room. 

“Please what, Reg?” Al teased, biting down on the round soft skin of the man’s arse.

“ _More,_ ” he replied, beginning to shake and whimper. 

Needing no more instruction, Al straightened to grab for the lubricant that had rolled to rest against one of the bed’s posts. Coating his hand with the oil, he let the excess drip down onto Reg’s already glistening cheeks.

He pressed one finger gently forward, rocking his fingertip back and forth, loosening the resistant opening before asking softly, “Is that all right?” 

“Ye-” Regulus tried to reply, wriggling a little and gasping before settling into a position and hissing, “Yessssssss.”

Every inch of the body below his tightened as Al tried his best to slowly work at the muscle that gripped his single digit like a vice. His cock screamed to be touched but one brush of his hand might be the end of him, so to placate his desperation to be inside Reg this very instant, he released the flies of his trousers and pushed both them and his pants around his thighs, his erection springing free into the cooler air of the room.

Dripping more lubricant around his finger, Al pushed more forcefully only to bump into the soft swell of Reg’s prostate, eliciting a strangled gasp from the man’s lips. Smiling brightly, he took advantage of the pleasure Regulus was experiencing and chose that moment to work a second finger into the tight ring of muscle. Garbled nonsense started to flow from Reg’s mouth as Al dropped his head to leave a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down his spine. When he pushed a third finger in, the man below stilled entirely and slowly, Al twisted his fingers, loosening the opening as much as possible before a whispered prayer of _please_ came from below him and he could no longer force himself to wait. 

Pulling his t-shirt and jumper over his head and ripping his trousers, pants, shoes and socks from his legs, he smoothed his hands over every expanse of skin he could get his hands on. 

“Turn over?” Al asked softly, aiding him as he shakily rolled on his back, his legs naturally spreading so that lay either side of where Alastor had climbed on to the bed. Regulus’ face was flushed pink and sweat beaded at his temples and he was beautiful in a way that Al didn’t think was humanly possible. Small whimpers were coming from his throat as he breathed, flickers of fear and want fighting for dominance over his features. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m… I’m… Al.” Reg choked around his words and Alastor climbed further up to lean against the mattress with one hand so he could stroke his palm against the man’s cheekbone. Al hushed him a little in an effort to calm the panic that was rising up in him. “Please.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Al told him, kissing the corner of his mouth and then trailing wetter kisses down his torso. Placing a final kiss to the underside of Regulus’ straining erection he leaned over him, placing one hand on the bed and using the other to guide himself into Reg’s arse. When his head bumped against the whirl of knotted muscle, he took a deep breath before asking, “Are you ready?”

“Go slow,” Reg breathed. 

“Always,” Al replied and pushed forward. 

Inhaling deeply, Reg’s face went immediately scarlet as the pressure of his arse around Alastor’s cock threatened an early end. Murmuring encouragements and going soul achingly slowly, Al kissed against the skin of Regulus’ bicep and said, “If you want me to stop, I will. There are so many more ways to make you feel good.” He continued - no matter what happened, Regulus’ pleasure was his priority. 

“No,” Reg choked, giving him a dopey smile. “Keep going.” 

Moving forward again, only to stop whenever Regulus seemed to need more time to adjust, Al closed his eyes to concentrate on how awful it would be right now if he would come before the man below him. 

Finding Reg’s erection with his free hand, he slowly stroked in time with leisurely shallow movements of his cock. “Does that feel better?” 

“Uh huh,” Reg nodded lazily, softly moaning long and sustained with the whir of a Muggle car engine. 

“You feel so good,” Al confessed, leaning down and licking from the man’s sternum to his collarbone. As he did so, Reg arched a little off the bed and it caused Alastor’s cock to slip deeper into him. Al’s body moved preternaturally, slowly but surely increasing the pace of his thrusts until they were both grunting, the groans coming from Reg becoming desperate; as if they were forced from his throat. 

Alastor lost all control of himself. 

“You’re going to make me come,” he hissed. “I’m going to fucking come.”

“Please.” Regulus whined beneath him, no thrusting his hips so that Al’s hand slid over his erection faster. “Please.” 

“Yes.” Al rasped, not knowing if Reg needed his permission or if he was simply chasing his own release, pounding into the body below him. 

Regulus’ body went tight for a few seconds, causing Al to cough and choke with the pressure around him. His cock jerked and come splattered over Alastor’s hand as Reg screamed below him, eyes open but unfocused as he gazed at the canopy above them. 

With a hungry growl, Al grabbed Regulus’ wrists and pushed them against the bed to steady himself. In Reg’s post orgasmic state, he simply smiled lazily below him and stretched under the force Alastor had over him. When his end came, Al whipped his head back and wailed as everything inside him pulsed into the body below him. His nerves were on fire as he felt his come fill Reg’s arse. 

Collapsing on top of the man below him, Al felt peaceful bliss fill his veins and wondered if he had ever in his life felt this _good._ Summoning a flannel from the bathroom, he wet it and started to clean the come off his hand and Reg’s abdomen, listening only to the measured, gentle breaths coming from him. 

Softly, Regulus sighed and turned to face him. Al felt his heart beat forcefully against his ribs as the molten silver irises went back to their normal shape, his pupils coming back from the black orbs they had been while Alastor had pounded him into the bed. 

“This,” Reg said, resting his forehead against Al’s arm and taking a deep breath, “Has been the best birthday I have _ever_ had.” 

  
  


If this is what Reg meant by ‘ _I know what I have to do’,_ then Alastor regretted not talking him out of it. 

As he paced back and forth in front of the charmed wall that allowed additional Aurors to see into Interrogation Room B, he tried his absolute best to calm his frayed nerves. Reg had been _arrested._ Arrested at a Death Eater rally where a Muggle woman had been raped and killed. Rubbing his hands over his face to stop the scream of frustration that threatened to escape him, he turned to watch Robards question him through the wall. 

“Did you know what was planned for the rally?” Robards asked, flicking through the file in his hands that only held Reg’s holding form and a picture of him. He’d never been arrested before, Alastor had been making sure of it. 

“No.” Reg replied, a tone of superiority building a false wall of bravado between him and the Auror. 

“When did you find out what was going to happen?” Robards asked, his calm manner almost making Al feel more angry. Someone should be taking the little shit to task, someone should make sure he never got caught again. 

“When it was happening,” Reg answered. 

“Moody,” Potter whispered, coming through the door to the observation room like lightning. “I’ve got the paperwork.” 

“Fuck me, that was fast,” Moody turned away from the wall and took the parchment that James held out for him. “How did you pull that off?” 

“I give a hell of a blow job,” he deadpanned breezily, facing the room where Reg was still stoically answering all of Robard’s questions. 

“Black doesn’t know he’s here, right?” Alastor asked, ignoring the smug look of satisfaction on Potter’s face. It wouldn’t do to punch his partner when he’d just illegally expedited the charges of his secret boyfriend. 

“Do you see Sirius punching his little brother in the face whilst Robards questions him?” James asked rhetorically, turning back to Al with a smile on his face that spoke of pure greasiness. Sleazy little shit. 

“Well, go make yourself useful and keep it that way, yeah?” He ordered, flicking his wand at the wall, causing a chime to sound in the interrogation room. 

Sauntering away, Potter closed the door behind him to go distract Sirius while Al attempted to get Reg out of there as quickly as possible. His shift had finished three hours ago but when over hearing in the pub that there’d been a Death Eater raid, something had gnawed at his stomach until he came back to the DMLE - only to find Regulus Black magically bound on his way to a holding cell. It had taken him only seconds, but a time that felt like an eternity nonetheless, to call Potter back into work to help plan the escape. 

“What is it, Al?” Robards asked as he walked through the door separating them. His welsh accent getting thicker now he wasn’t being forced to ask questions from a script. “This kid isn’t giving anything away; but you never know, do you?”

“He’s free to go, Gawain,” Alastor replied, making a show of feeling irritated - not an emotion he was used to falsifying. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” He replied, grabbing the paperwork out of Al’s hand and looking over the contents with his eyes bulging and muttering what he was sure were swear words. 

“These little shits always have Mummy and Daddy ready to get them out of trouble, don’t they?” Alastor sneered through the observation wall where Regulus sat deflated staring mournfully at the table he was bound to. “I’ll take him out to the atrium.” 

“The freedom that money buys you, eh?” Robards shrugged and turned back to the room. Al sighed in relief. Lying to one of the only colleagues he didn’t actively despise didn’t rest easy on his shoulders; but he had a promise to keep and a Death Eater to castrate so in that moment, he was willing to live with the feeling under the guise of ‘needs must’. “Go wait. I’ll have him out in a minute, now.” 

Impatiently, Al paced in the waiting room of the holding cells. He knew how long it took to process someone’s release, even with the documents already filled out, but he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t have _time for this._ Potter had convinced Sirius to knock off early and had taken him to the pub, but what if they came back? What if someone saw them together before they could make it to the apparition point? 

“Moody will be making sure you get home,” Robards explained to Regulus, his voice getting louder as they came into the waiting room from behind a permanently charmed door that locked from the inside only. 

Trying hard not to make eye contact with Reg, Al moved as Robards removed the restraints from his wrists. He tried not to think too hard about how he was about to touch Reg in front of another person as he firmly grasped his forearm and walked off with him towards the apparition point. 

“Al,” Reg whispered hoarsely as they turned the corner to a seemingly empty hallway. 

“Not-fucking-here!” He hissed, shoving the other man through the door and into the apparition room, before roughly pulling them out of existence and landing them on the rug that sat in front of Alastor’s fireplace. 

Striding away as fast as he could to stop himself from physically tackling Regulus to the ground, he went to pour himself a firewhiskey and didn’t pour a second. 

“Al,” Reg started, tentatively stepping towards him. “I’m sorry, the anti appart-”

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!” Al roared, enjoying the wince that flickered across Regulus’ face. He deserved to wince, the little prick. “They raped and killed a woman and you didn’t think about FUCKING LEAVING?! Your lot are getting more cocky by the shitting second, I swear to every fucking God there is.” His hands balled into fists at his side so tightly he could feel his arms shaking. He couldn’t breath, he could only rage at the danger Reg was putting him in.“You didn’t think that a rally of that size might have been reported to the fucking authorities?”

“I couldn’t just _leave,_ Al,” Regulus replied softly, looking at his feet, shame filling every contour of his face. “I’m meant to _like_ it.” 

“You are _meant,_ ” Alastor replied, gritting through his teeth in an attempt to not end up screaming for the rest of the night. “You are MEANT to keep yourself shitting safe, you IDIOT.” 

“I’m never going to be safe,” Reg whispered, turning away to gaze at the fireplace. 

In all of his anger, Al hadn’t noticed that his flat was completely dark until just then. He pinched the bridge of his nose and reached for his wand from his holster. Whispering a quick _ignio_ around the room, the lamps and the fireplace flickered to life. From where he was standing, he could only see Regulus in profile; but his gaunt, humiliated expression immediately dampened his rage until all that was left was concern. 

He wasn’t used to this. The feelings that wracked his body in the place of his normal state of irritation or anger, the ones that surfaced only when faced with this beautiful man and the danger he was putting himself in, were difficult to come to terms with. _Love,_ his mind helpfully reminded him. He was in love with a man who was endangering himself repeatedly, with absolutely no guarantee that he’d succeed. 

He reminisced about a time, almost four months ago, when seducing Regulus Black was a great idea. A time when he might score the Order some information on the enemy. A time when he wasn’t falling in love with a boy who was trying to demolish the plans of a terrorist cell from the inside. A time long, long gone, and he didn’t know if he wanted it back anyway.

Walking up behind him, Al placed a soft wet kiss on the plane of skin visible above the undone collar of Reg’s shirt. 

“Please be more careful,” Alastor murmured, turning Regulus around in his arms. “I can’t save you again, it’s too suspicious.” 

Watching the tear that broke free of Reg’s waterline, Al caught it before it could reach his jaw. What the fuck was he meant to do with a Death Eater that cried? Before he could think better of it, Alastor softly leaned down to kiss Regulus. 

They’d had many kisses before, all stolen and harsh with an air of panic about them. Even when they had last been in Al’s flat it felt hurried - like if they didn’t take what pleasure they could from each other right then, they’d lose their chance. This kiss, however, was different. Slower than they’d been before, Al swiped his tongue against Reg’s bottom lip and took advantage of the little gasp it prompted; pushing forward to press and massage his tongue against the other man’s. 

Whimpering in his arms, Regulus pushed his hands it’s Alastor’s hair, pulling it out of the knot he kept it in and letting it fall into his peripheral vision. The second that the younger man’s finger tips touched his scalp, all was lost. Dragging Reg’s shirt over his head and mouthing at his jaw while taking care of his cufflinks, Al couldn’t help the small words or praise and filth that escaped him. 

Small sweet and hot promises of a life they could never have together. 

“Al,” Regulus breathed, placing his hands either side of his neck and pressing their foreheads together. 

“Stay,” he replied, not asking a question but issuing a demand - no, a _need_. Pulling Reg through the door to his bedroom, he kicked it shut behind them and shut them away from the world for one more night.

* * *

  
  


_CRACK_

The sound rang around his flat so loudly that Al was awake and his wand was in his hand without needing to consciously summon it. Launching out of bed and through the pitch black, he was ready to face whoever had gotten past the wards. He had been ready for this for a long time, considering he wasn’t difficult to find. His grandmother had been the most eligible woman in Wizarding Britain in her day, and so this flat - his home - was socially historical. He was an idiot for staying there, for allowing himself to feel a connection to the place. 

It would be his downfall. 

At first, when he strode into the living room, he couldn’t see anyone over the high back of the velvet sofa and the shadows caused by the moonlight coming from the high windows. But then there was a gurgle, an awful choking _wet_ sound that set a riotous pulse in the pit of Alastor’s stomach. 

Edging around the sofa, it was worse than Death Eaters finding his flat. It was worse than being killed in his sleep in an act of war, worse than any sabotage he could imagine because it was _Regulus_ , pale and sweaty on the rug, in the arms of a half-dead House elf. Falling to his knees to grab the man’s body from the elf, Reg’s skin felt cool and damp and wrong, and the only thing that stopped him from vomiting was the overwhelming feeling that he should be _doing something._

“Reg,” Al called the man’s name sharply, firmly brushing the sweat off his cheekbones and looking up into the large hooded eyes of the elf that was now bent double in agony. “What happened?”

“Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus,” The elf cried, retching and almost collapsing from the effort. “Kreacher promised he wouldn’t tell, but Master Regulus should be cared for, he shou-” 

“Kreacher,” Alastor interrupted, taking the elf by the scruff of it’s pillowcase and shaking it a little. “What happened?”

“Kreacher cannot say, Kreacher only brings Master Regulus here to-”

“Al…” Reg croaked from the floor, catching both Al and Kreacher’s attention. “Al…” 

“Kreacher must return to Mistress,” the elf panted, taking big gulping breaths and wiping large tears from his cheeks. Something silver glinted in it’s hand, but a soft coughing noise came from Reg and he pulled the man’s head onto his lap. 

“You did well, Kreacher… Thank you,” Reg whispered, he eyes closed, resting his face against Al’s arm like a sleepy child. 

_CRACK_

Regulus shuddered on the floor on top of Al’s lap. Trying his best to control his breathing, Alastor cast a basic diagnostics charm over him, but there was so much dark blue and grey that he immediately stopped for fear that he might scream. 

It would do Reg no good now, no good at all. 

For a few moments, they both stayed very still. The only movement that Al made was to slowly and very gently stroke Regulus’ hair. It had always felt so silky and soft, he could remember sinking his fingertips across the man’s scalp the last time they had been here together. The regret and guilt that rippled through him felt tangible as he remembered screaming in Reg’s face and berating him for things neither of them could control. 

“Al…” Regulus whispered against his palm, weakly grabbing at Alastor’s arm as if he were drowning. 

“Sshh,” Al hushed him, holding him tighter so he would feel safer. “Try not to move so much.” 

“Al, I did it.” Reg coughed, a strange green water dripping in damning rivulets out of his mouth and over Alastor’s lap. It felt ice-cold as it sunk through his pyjamas bottoms, and the weight of what was happening felt like it might force him to the ground. 

“Be quiet, Reg, for fuck’s sake,” Al choked, unshed tears burning fiercely in his eyes, as he sniffed hard in an attempt to drown the anguish he felt before it bubbled to the surface. 

A low gurgling bubbled from Regulus again before painful retching that Al held him through; gripping too tightly, but entirely unable to control his hands. They grabbed and grasped at Reg of their own accord as Alastor allowed a few tears to escape. 

“ _Accio_ flannel,” Al murmured, holding his hand out to allow it to sweep into his grip. 

Still damp from when he had used it before bed, but cool enough that maybe it would make Reg feel even a little more comfortable, he dabbed it across the other man’s forehead. After a few seconds, Regulus’ shivers seemed to settle and a beautiful yet terrible serene expression rested on his features. With a soft sigh, Reg turned so that he was using Al’s thighs as a pillow, wrapping his arms around his torso. 

“I did it,” Reg whispered, the gurgle gone from his voice but sounding noticeably weaker.

“Sshh,” Al replied, going back to sweeping his fingers through the sodden black locks in his lap. 

“When he finds out,” Al said, ignoring Alastor’s hushing and gripping him harder. “It will already be gone.” 

“Be quiet Reg,” Alastor said in a firmer tone, trying to focus only on the soft puffs of breath he could feel over his thighs and the flutter of Regulus’ eyelids. 

“Someone will figure it out,” Reg murmured, placing a soft barely-there kiss to Al leg below him. 

“You _promised,_ ” Al whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You promised you’d never tell me; I can’t know.” 

“You don’t know anything,” Reg argued, a note of childish petulance in his tone. 

“I’ll know enough if you don’t shut up,” Alastor argued, a small laugh in his voice. 

For a second, Regulus’ mouth looked poised to snap back at him, as if they were in normal conversation. Only when his mouth settled into its natural pout did Al relax a little and return to stroking his scalp, keeping an eye on the sweat forming on the other man’s brow. Alastor couldn’t remember if they had been there for hours or minutes, but with every soft but defined breath he felt lucky - lucky that Reg was still there with him. 

“Al?” Regulus squeaked, terror in his voice and a full body shudder rolling through him. 

“I’m here, Reg,” he replied, trying his best to sound strong - to be strong, even if he didn’t feel it.

No - he felt like a child, so completely unprepared for what he had signed up for in this war. He had told Dumbledore that he would do _anything_ for the Order; that he would have constant vigilance and be the eyes and ears the Order needed in the Ministry. He’d been so fucking sure of himself, so sure that he was capable of handling vital information, handling important people.

What a joke. 

He had fallen at the first hurdle. When faced with the opportunity of an informant, of receiving quality tip-offs that could have saved so many lives, he had gone to his knees for him. It was now that he could see, as the man lay in a puddle of vomit, drenched in his own sweat and tears, that when he had taken Regulus by the scruff of the neck in the Nott kitchen, he had sealed his fate. He would never be someone who could possibly be strong enough to fight in this war, to see it through to the bitter end. 

Regulus’ breath began to rattle as the sun started to rise over London. 

Bending down to place a soft kiss on the man’s forehead, Al closed his eyes and heaved a silent, bone-shaking sob. The last time that the man’s chest rose and fell, birds started to sing in the trees that lined the road outside, and an owl landed on the outside sil of his window with a copy of the Daily Prophet, it’s beak against the glass. 

_Tap tap tap._

* * *

  
  


“Moody!” Sirius Black’s voice called from the Floo. 

Ignoring him, Al continued making the cup of tea he’d been brewing, having woken up deeply hungover. 

Going to the bookies, buying a bottle of Firewhiskey, and coming home to drown himself in his own sadness had been his daily itinerary for the last two weeks. He couldn’t bring himself to do much else; ignoring the stain on his rug and sleeping in the spare room, unable to even look at his own bed. 

“MOODY!” Black’s voice barked through the grate.

Sighing and rubbing his free hand over his face, he approached the fireplace - regretting every step. 

“What the fuck do you want, Black?” He snapped, looking at the embers of the floo as they morphed into the repulsive, smarmy smile of Sirius Black. 

“It’s Reg’s funeral today.” Sirius said, his face losing all semblance of bravado as he spoke his brother’s name. 

“What of it?” Al replied, sneering; his only defence the pain that rattled through him. 

Silence rang across his flat as the hollow feeling behind his sternum intensified. Regulus’ pale sweaty face emerged in sharp relief in his mind, his eyes closed and his breath shallow. Alastor felt like he might vomit through the Floo, and frankly it served Sirius right for even trying to contact him. 

“Well,” Remus Lupin’s voice joined the call, concern and kindness ringing earnestly in his tone. “Is he coming?” 

“Shh, Moony,” Sirius whispered, his face turning to the side in the embers to glance at the faceless voice. “I’ve only just got through.”

“We’re going to be late,” Lupin said gently, and the sound of booted feet clattered across floorboards before a door closed. 

“Are you coming?” Sirius asked, his voice dropping to an awful attempt at kindness. It didn’t suit him and it only served to further remind Al that the actual kind Black brother was gone. 

_Gone._

“Why would I come to your brother’s funeral, Black?” Alastor asked, rasping as tears slid down his cheeks. 

“You know why, Moody,” Sirius said, letting the implication settle over their argument, rendering Al mute. 

After a short spell of silence, he looked at the clock on the wall. He’d only slept for three hours - he probably looked like shite and he likely smelled of vomit, and yet he heard himself mutter his agreement. “Ten minutes.” 

“Marvellous. Just come through the Floo; we’ll be in the kitchen.” Sirius disappeared from the fireplace and the embers returned to their dull state. 

It had probably actually taken him fifteen minutes, but he’d showered and put on some smart enough trousers. He was pulling a grey jumper over his only decent dress shirt, he stepped through the green flames and emerged from the fireplace in the Camden house, not bothering to dust off any ash that collected on the soft fibres. 

Walking into the kitchen to find Lupin taking a cup of tea out of Sirius’ hands as he cupped his lover’s chin, Al almost turned on his heel. 

“We’ll need to go, or we’ll miss it,” Remus said softly, looking down at the Muggle watch on his wrist. 

Sirius took Lupin’s hand and walked towards Al, placing his other hand on his forearm with the most genuine smile he’d ever seen from him. It made his stomach turn because somewhere in that half-smile was the man he’d kissed, laughing in his quiet way, and Alastor turned sharply away before he made a further fool of himself. “Lead the way,” he said, voice gruff as always, but raw with a different kind of pain. 

Appearing at the top of the hill overlooking Barnaby Bulby Graveyard in Wiltshire, all three of them stood there silently - but none of the guests of the funeral took any notice of them. 

Al’s stomach twisted once more. Somewhere in this graveyard was his Grandmother. 

They were at least two hundred yards away from the ;who’s-who; of Wizarding High Society as they stood in their expensive robes with stoic expressions. There was a moment when Alastor thought that the three of them, there and then, could kill every one of those Society pricks - and cut down the most influential Death Eaters in the process. Sirius, for all his misgivings, was a great shot with his wand; and Lupin had enough anger issues to be an asset in a fight. 

They could stop this all now if they just got their wands out and got rid of every last one of them. 

“Are we not going to be _attending_ the funeral?” Remus asked, pulling on Sirius’ hand that was wound tightly in his. 

“I believe the Howler Walburga sent said that if she saw me at Reggie’s funeral, she’d have me killed on the spot,” Sirius grinned, but the joy in his expression didn’t reach his eyes. 

Sighing and glancing apologetically at Al, Lupin went back to stand silently; but Alastor didn’t miss the squeeze the werewolf gave Black’s hand before looking at his own feet. 

You couldn’t have paid Alastor to stand next to the cretins that were in attendance. He much preferred the mourning he had been doing alone in his flat but something had pulled at him when he had been on the floo to Sirius that morning. 

The old man who was holding the ceremony was easily recognisable as Orion Black: he was on every watch list the Aurors had. He spoke clearly and without emotion at his son’s funeral and Al made a note that when the time came, the Head of house Black would be the first to go. 

When the ceremony ended, small pops of disapparition echoed around the graveyard until only he, Sirius and Remus remained… and one solitary man next to Reg’s grave. When the man turned, revealing his handsome face and cold eyes, all three of them stiffened; the air around them crackling with magic. 

Voldemort. 

Smiling, _fucking smiling,_ the most powerful dark wizard of their time looked right into Al’s eyes before blinking out of existence without a sound. 

Alastor felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t look at Sirius who was softly sobbing against Lupin’s shoulder. The air around him seemed to be made of fire and the only thing that stopped him from falling to his knees on the grass was the possibility of Voldemort coming back for them. 

_CRACK_

Al roared out loud, wand brandished before him; but with one blink, two blinks, he realised that Remus and Sirius had left.

He was alone. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks in earnest as the dam he had created around his heart broke entirely. He stumbled blindly forward, the feeling that he might vomit returning as he quickly approached the brand new black marble gravestone that stood out with new grass that had been magically grown in front of it. 

The closer he got to his destination, the louder and more panicked his thoughts became. Voldemort had been at Regulus’ funeral. He’d been in attendance with Reg’s parents and cousins and the influential friends of his father. None of them, not one of them, deserved to even look at the marble Reg’s name was etched into. 

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

_1961-1979_

The black marble had veins of grey running through it that were somehow exactly the shade of Regulus’ eyes, and Al’s tears erupted afresh. 

“You would have hated this,” Al choked, not knowing why he was speaking to a dead man but the words tumbled out clumsily regardless. “These awful cunts all simpering and pretending they give a fuck, and your brother being denied an invitation.”

Toeing at the grass at his feet, Alastor felt alarming dizziness overcome him and sank, almost falling, to the ground to kneel at the edge of the new grass. 

“He came, you know,” he rasped, no longer able to look at Reg’s name on the stone - instead choosing to talk to the grass and dirt that lay over him like a blanket. “Sirius came. He got me to come too. Did you tell him? About us?”

A bird called out in the distance, making him jump and whip his head around before he turned back to his one-sided conversation. 

“Voldemort came to your funeral, Reg,” Al sobbed, his torso shaking with the effort of trying _not_ to weep, whilst desperately wishing to curl up on the ground and wait to join Regulus in death. “You’ve - well, I don’t know what you’ve done, but you’ve done _something_ and he came to your fucking funeral.”

A small smile curled across his face at the thought of some distant, hazy ideal of a future in Voldemort would come to discover what Reg had done and there would be no retribution, no revenge. Because how could there be?

Reg was already dead. 

“We’re going to win this war, Reg,” he choked out, bile rising in his throat, “And I might never know how, but you’ll be the reason why.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_The pain stops almost immediately, but there’s a ringing in his ears as Al feels the insidious, inky maliciousness of Voldemort’s consciousness leave his mind._

_Steadying himself on his broom, he wobbles with the effort it takes not to slip sideways and allow the night to swallow him._

_Joy overcomes him when he realises that he’s kept his promise, and nothing about what Regulus actually did has been left in his memories. Only the love he felt for him; the part of him that has been waiting for this moment since the birds had sung at dawn outside Al’s living room window in 1979._

_Looking behind him, Al can see Bill Weasley hovering in the distance with his arm wrapped around his wife - still disguised as Harry - and a bright, brilliant, damning green flares in his peripheral vision._

_Slowly, as he feels the icy tendrils of the curse approach him, he feels a soft hand curl around the nape of his neck. Reg’s round silver eyes refocus in his mind and a wide brilliant smile appears in his vision. There is no guarantee that he will see him again, no warm white light inviting him to join Regulus in death, but a sense of calm ripples through him anyway._

_He has been waiting for this since Kreacher apparated out of his flat; and now, as death hurtles towards him on a trajectory that he has no hope of evading, Al can only feel contentment about what he has accomplished._

_Surety that Reg’s sacrifice proves worth every moment of crippling agony he’s felt since, blooms in his chest. A slow smile forms on his lips, and he doesn’t even raise his wand._

_Darkness overcomes him._

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This piece was inspired by The Fairest of the Rare Facebook group's Super Rare Summer Fest. I posted a small one shot for the prompt and this whole thing fell out of my head, fully formed. I'll add it to this piece as a series but it is the non-sexual section of Reg & Moody's second meeting at the bookies, from Reg's point of view.


End file.
